The Black Widow's Venom
by Imagine88
Summary: (Sequel to 'The Hawk and His Prey', but can also be read as a standalone story.) Natasha Romanoff is S.H.I.E.L.D.'s newest recruit. Between gossip and intrigue among S.H.I.E.L.D.'s blue-collar workers, and a tense and unpredictable relationship with Barton, Natasha finds herself face to face with the horrors she thought she'd left behind. (Black Widow x Hawkeye/Clintasha/Blackhawk)
1. I'm a Girl, Remember?

"Have you ever worked for the KGB, Miss Romanoff?"

Natasha smiled playfully. "Not directly."

Barton covered his face with the sheets of paper he was holding. Trying more than anything not to laugh.

_Typical her,_ he thought to himself. And for a second it amazed him that he knew the 'typical her'.

"Could you elaborate?" he asked her, biting his lips in an attempt not to smile.

"Are you going to make me?" she said seductively, suddenly leaning forward.

He couldn't help himself, he snorted.

And Director Fury glared warningly in his direction.

They were in the interrogation room in S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. Barton had been assigned the task of questioning their newest recruit: a certain Miss Natasha Romanoff.

Fury was pacing up and down the room, supervising the inquiry of course.

Barton buried himself in the papers again, but could still see her grinning on the opposite side of the table.

Agent Barton swallowed hard because now she was raising her eyebrows at him, pouting her lips and-

"Honestly?" Nick Fury shouted, his hands thrown up in the air. "You two can't act like professionals for just half an hour?"

"Agent Barton is very distracting," she smirked.

"She means sorry Sir." Barton uttered.

And Director Fury sighed slowly. Shaking his head, he gestured to the door. "I've heard enough. You two can go."

Both Clint and Natasha got up from their seats. One grave and one grinning.

"And Agent Barton," he added. "I trust that you can introduce Miss Romanoff to Coulson."

"Of course, Sir." he answered, trying to seem as respectful as possible.

Natasha burst out laughing on the other side of the door. "So this is what it's like?" she sniggered.

"What?"

"Working for S.H.I.E.L.D." she said, still laughing.

"Not what you expected?"

"You're the people that my bosses' bosses were afraid of and..." She grinned, but with her eyebrows furrowed. "But you're all just..."

"What?" he smiled.

"One big happy family."

He laughed at the absurdity of that. But when he looked back at her, she seemed strangely serious.

"One _very_ dysfunctional family," he concluded with a grin.

But her expression stayed solemn.

He was leading her over to the other side of the building. And they had just stepped out into the vast enclosure that marked the center of S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. The very hub of the organisation.

The whole place was buzzing with people and machinery alike, and Natasha looked around, quite in awe of it all. A beacon of light shone down from the roof, which looked almost like glass to the Widow.

_Bullet proof would be an understatement though_, she thought to herself.

She had hardly seen any of the main building before, just a room here and there before she left. They had assigned her a mission very quickly. Well, straight away; she had still been in the hospital following those previous events, when Fury offered her the job. (If the word 'offer' applied at all.) And not a bad job either.

Budapest.

_That had been fun._

Barton was the only one who trusted her, she knew that. Everyone else was suspicious at best.

"So, where are we going?" she asked him.

"To Agent Coulson," Clint replied. "He'll be directing your physical assessment."

"Are you going to be watching?" she said to him flirtatiously.

"Probably."

"Good," she smiled, eyebrows raised.

He just looked at her, mystified.

Because that's what she was to him (among other things). A mystery.

"Agent Barton," a voice called, cheerily. Waving his arm overhead.

"That's him?" she asked.

"That's him."

The so-called Agent Coulson smiled as they approached him.

"Oh, and one other thing," Barton said to her, pulling her close, just out of earshot of the agent. "Don't mention the car," he whispered.

"The car?" she asked, but he was already shaking Coulson's hand.

"Agent Coulson, this is Agent Romanoff. Or at least she will be when all of her assessments are complete."

"It's great to finally meet you," he told her, smiling. But he seemed a little shaky in contrast. "Your record is impeccable," he added. "I mean your- Your skill set." And he shook his head awkwardly.

"She's something else," Barton interjected.

Natasha glared at him.

"So, what am I being tested in exactly?" she asked.

"Combat mostly," Coulson said, now holding both arms behind his back.

And he nodded shyly. "You look good in the uniform," he told her awkwardly, and then nodded again.

"I just mean that most agents, well they don't look like..." And he gestured to her figure. Then shook his head fiercely. "I mean they're just not as..."

"Sir." a man interrupted. And Phil immediately turned, exceptionally grateful to end this conversation.

"Where should I put..." the man gestured, pointing to a large truck behind him.

"Right," Phil said, enthusiastically. "You can bring her down here."

The other man made his way over to the back of the truck, and Agent Coulsan quickly followed.

A bright red convertible made it's way down the ramp, with one of the truck drivers inside of it. Phil walked proudly at its front.

"Lola," he started, beaming as he touched the hood.

And Barton rolled his eyes.

"A cherry red, _hovercapable_, 1962 Chevrolet Corvette. Based on designs by Howard Stark." He looked down at the car again, and stroked it affectionately.

"He hasn't stopped saying that for the past six months," Barton whispered to her.

Natasha snorted.

"Don't you have a job to be doing, Agent Coulson?" a voice asked, echoing behind the three.

Phil looked up, gasping quietly. "Yes, Sir." he said quickly, scuttling over to Director Fury.

"Miss Romanoff," Fury started. "If you'd come this way for your physical assessment."

Hawkeye looked up at him.

"You're permitted to accompany her, Agent Barton." He shook his head. "God knows, we wouldn't want you two separated for even _half_ a moment," he said sarcastically.

Director Fury and Coulson escorted the pair through a dark looking back entrance which led to different training areas.

"Agent Coulson seems nice," Natasha said, shaking her head and smiling by Barton's side.

"His heart is in the right place."

"He seemed kinda scared of me," she added, smirking triumphantly.

"You're the infamous Black Widow," he told her. "Everyone around here is waiting for the moment when you'll turn around and crazy murder them."

"Not you?" she asked him playfully.

"Then you'd have no one to tease."

She laughed, leaning closer to him.

"You wearing perfume?" he asked her suddenly, smelling something strange in the air.

"I am a girl, remember?" she teased.

"No, it's uh... nice."

She gave him a sultry smile. And he wondered for a moment how stupid he must look when she did things like that.

They walked on further down the poorly lighted passage, until a rather small looking door appeared.

"After you, Miss Romanoff," Phil said politely, letting Fury through the door first.

The room was large and spacious, with a smaller enclosure at its core. There were dummies and different kinds of weapons within the compartment, and around it, a layer of what looked like glass.

_Bullet proof would be an understatement though_, Natasha reminded herself.

Fury immediately seated himself in a box at the front of the room, gesturing at Barton to join him.

"Right this way," Coulson smiled at her, leading the way to the small enclosed area.

He stepped inside, and so did Natasha, the door shutting slowly behind them.

Barton could barely hear the instructions Phil was giving her from outside of the container, it seemed almost sound proof.

"I really hope you're right about her," Fury told him, arms crossed. "For my sake. And yours."

Meanwhile, within the compartment, Natasha was smiling.

"You're sure?" she asked Coulson.

"Completely sure," he told her, slipping on these large, black padded gloves.

"Punch you?"

"As hard as you can. They measure the force," he explained.

"Wouldn't it be better if I used a dummy to do that?"

"These are specifically designed to withhold the pressure. I shouldn't feel a thing."

And he held his hands open in front of him.

She positioned herself correctly, taking her time to look right at him. A look that could only be described as suggestive.

Barton glared at her suspiciously from the box.

And Coulson smiled shyly.

Both Fury and Barton hissed and shut their eyes, as they heard the blow, and saw Coulson stumbling backwards.

And then Barton leapt up from his seat, but was stopped by the hand of Director Fury.

_His_ gaze was fixed on Black Widow.

Natasha stayed exactly where she was, her whole demeanor directed at Fury. And she raised her eyebrows cheekily, still staring.

"I- I- I'm fine," muttered Phil from the corner, clearly not 'fine', as he clung to the wall. A large, and alarmingly purple bruise, marked the spot where she had hit him.

After getting a pack of ice from somewhere, Coulson continued directing the assessment, except now from the box with Fury; the door of the training facility left open.

Natasha stood there, facing Clint.

"You're sure, Director Fury?" Natasha asked, amusedly.

"Agent Barton has the one of the highest combat scores in the history of this organisation, Miss Romanoff."

"And here I thought you could only play with arrows," she told Barton, saucily.

Clint smiled.

"You will be measured on your agility, fierceness, _and strength_," Phil said, a little uneasily. And pressed the pack closer to his cheek.

"We've already seen your capabilities there, but I would prefer _not _to have a hole through one of my agents when this is over," Fury added.

"No promises," Natasha smirked.

The two spies positioned themselves correctly, and stared at each other, circling the compartment.

"You scared, Barton?" Natasha teased.

"I do have a first name, you know," he retorted.

"Yeah, but it sucks."

"_Concentrate_," Fury interrupted.

Natasha shrugged, and watched Barton carefully, still as alluring as ever.

Barton got closer, entirely focused, and a little intrigued by her animalistic movements.

He took a swing, she ducked, still smiling.

The circle continued for a few more moments, everything a little more tense. Both sets of eyes locked on each other.

This time Natasha swung her arm, and Hawkeye ducked. Grabbing hold of her wrist just as quickly as she had thrust it forward.

Director Fury narrowed his eyes at the two of them, watching their workings intensely. Every move each one of them made was flawless. And they seemed quite evenly matched.

"What do you think, Coulson?" Fury asked, pensively.

"I think her reputation exceeds her," he replied, taking the pack of ice off his cheek.

And there was a faint sound of laughter from within the compartment.

Fury looked over and saw Natasha evading yet another one of Barton's blows.

"But do you think that we can-"

_Bang._

And the world spun round-

And there was nothing she could do-

And there was ringing-

And there was blackness-

And there was _'Papa! Papa, no!'-_

_And there was light, and there was mist, and there was screaming..._

_'Shush now, Natalia. You know what you have to do for Daddy. You know what you have to do to keep us safe.'_

_And there was 'be a good girl', and 'be a good girl'-_

_And there was warmth-_

_And there was cold-_

_And there was nothing..._

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: So this time round, we'll get to experience Natasha's past (or my portrayal of it) kind of first hand. Because maybe there's some things she didn't tell Barton... Next I have to justify damaging Phil: Natasha definitely isn't a 'play by the rules' kinda gal, and I just thought: what better way to play mind games with Fury? Showing that she isn't S.H.I.E.L.D.'s toy, and that she's never going to be. Guest Starring: Lola, by the way. The only character in Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. who isn't involved in a love triangle!<strong>

**Any kind of review would be wonderful. And I would also love anyone's suggestions of things I should include.**

**Thank you so much to the people who encouraged me to write a sequel in the first place (much to my astonishment) you know who you are.**

**I don't know if anyone else heard the frankly, disturbing rumour, about Black Widow hooking up with Bruce Banner in Age of Ultron. I have nothing against him (I think he's a really cool character) but now I kinda do! It seems dangerously legit. And I'm scared. Very scared...**

**Imagine88. :)**

**P.S. I've just realised now that my smiley faces don't have noses!**


	2. The Man Who Blew Away with the Blizzard

_Bang._

His fist had hit her right in the face.

A poorly aimed blow at that.

She fell to the ground, and he was there, as quick as lightning.

He knelt down beside her, and watched her intensely. Her eyes opened widely, but her whole body shook. She gasped, and she moaned, in nothing short of terror.

And why couldn't he do anything? Why couldn't he move?

She had been looking right at him, like she was trying to scream. The expression on her face completely indescribable.

_You hit her. You hurt her_, he thought to himself

The fear in her eyes almost dragging him in.

Coulson came running. Followed slowly by Fury. And people in white were trying to take her away.

And: _Natasha! Natasha!_ Was he shouting out loud?

And someone was watching him. But that didn't matter now.

All that mattered was- _Natasha! Natasha!_

This couldn't be-

And someone was panting.

But everything was quiet.

A pair of bright eyes, looking deep into his own.

And the world was alright again.

_Natasha?_

* * *

><p>"Fury said I'd find you here."<p>

Barton looked behind him and she smiled.

"So _this_ is your secret hideout," she said amusedly, moving over to the edge of the platform.

But his eyes were only fixed on one place.

"The hawk's nest," she added slowly, sitting down by his side in the darkness.

"For lack of a better name," he told her.

He dared himself to face her, when a flash of white light shone upwards from beneath them, and he could see the swollen mark where he had-

"Don't look so serious," she laughed, in a mocking voice. "At least I know that you can hit a girl."

The two of them smiled for a moment, but then there was silence.

And they both looked down.

"Natasha?" he asked, exploring every syllable.

She looked up at him. A very unfamiliar expression painted on her face.

"What happened?" Clint asked gravely.

"I have no freaking idea," she told him quickly with a smile.

_And I heard she was a better liar_, Barton thought to himself.

"I screwed up. I panicked. Just one of those moments, I guess," she stated simply.

_Black-_

_White-_

_'Papa!'-_

_RED-_

_Stop it, _she thought to herself.

She swallowed.

_Stop. It._

And her right hand was shaking, so she grabbed it with her other one.

"So isn't this place a little dark? A little lonely?" she asked him suddenly, surveying the platform.

He was quiet for a moment, acknowledging in his mind, that she had now dropped the previous subject.

"It's quiet. I can think here," he told her, earnestly. "Besides, being lonely isn't such a bad thing, in my experience. You can understand that."

She stared at him, perplexed, but smiling. "You're a mystery, you know that?"

"I thought you had me_ all_ figured out," he replied, almost teasingly.

"I thought so too."

There was a lopsided smile on her face.

"Well," she said, swinging her legs gracefully over the edge of the platform. "Maybe we can be lonely together."

And there was a look exchanged between them.

"Natasha, if you ever want someone- I mean, if you ever want to-"

"Agent Barton," a cheery voice called from down below. And Phil appeared just underneath them.

Barton sighed.

"Fury wants you in his office," Coulson told him.

And Phil smiled awkwardly up at Natasha.

"Have fun with the boss man," Natasha told Clint, smirking.

And Barton smiled, standing up.

He then gazed down at Phil who was looking back expectantly.

"I think someone's got a crush," Barton said, amusedly. Before sliding down a rope near the edge of the railings.

Natasha snorted. Watching Clint and Agent Coulsan walk away.

And then proceeded to lean her head gently against the metallic looking wall.

She sighed, then swallowed, and closed her eyes. Relaxing as much as she possibly could.

It was only then that she lifted her right hand off her other one, pulling it out in full view.

The shaking hadn't stopped. If anything, it had gotten worse.

She sighed heavily, and closed her eyes again.

"What's wrong with me?" she whispered to herself.

Before she knew it her wrist was pressed against her lips. And after inhaling the smell, she felt instantly soothed.

Agent Barton knocked on Fury's door.

"Come in," the gravelly voice of S.H.I.E.L.D. replied.

Fury was sitting on a chair at the back of his desk, an especially large glass table that extended around the curve of the room.

"Take a seat, Agent Barton," Fury gestured.

Barton sat down, with Fury's gaze pressed against him.

"I want to talk about Agent Romanoff."

"What would you like to know, Sir?" Barton asked.

And Fury narrowed his eye at him, as if he had just been very sorely insulted.

"I want to know why the medical team are telling me she had a seizure when you hit her. I want to know why the hell _she had_ a seizure!"

Fury sighed and shook his head.

"I want to know why you _froze_, Agent Barton."

_Oh just great_, he thought to himself.

"And finally, I want to know why I should have any interest in keeping her."

* * *

><p><em>'Natalia'-<em>

_'Natalia,'_

Natasha's mind echoed.

_'Natalia, you've got to listen'-_

_(LISTEN)-_

_(Listen)-_

_And it was dark-_

_(And it was dark-)_

_'Daddy loves you, my dear'-_

_(DADDY LOVES YOU)-_

_(Daddy loves you)-_

_'But why?'_

_(But why?)-_

_'To keep us safe'-_

_(SAFE)-_

_(Safe)-_

_(Safe)-_

_'But I'm not safe!' she screamed._

_'Papa?'-_

_(Papa?)-_

_Was she screaming?-_

_(Was she screaming?-)_

_Was it her?-_

_(Was it her?)-_

_Where was she?-_

_(Where was she?)-_

_S.H.I.E.L.D.?-_

_(S.H.I.E.L.D.?)-_

_No-_

_(NO-)_

"_No! No!" And she struggled against the man that was holding her. "Papa! Papa, no!"_

_And the darkness all faded into blinding white light-_

_''Shush now, Natalia. You know what you have to do for Daddy. You know what you have to do to keep us safe.''_

_And she was screaming-_

_(Screaming-)_

_(Screaming-)_

_And the tears ran down her cheeks._

"_Be a good girl for Daddy."_

_(Be a good girl-)_

_(Be a good girl-)_

_But she was pulling and kicking for all she was worth._

"_Shush now, Natalia. Be a good girl for Daddy."_

_And she bit the man's hand. And he was screaming-_

_(Screaming-)_

_(Screaming-)_

_She fell into the snow-_

_And everything was empty-_

_Her arms wrapped around her father._

_Papa?-_

_(Papa?-)_

_In his warmest Winter coat._

_Papa?-_

_(Papa?-)_

_And he pushed the child away._

"_Natalia-"_

"_I won't ever leave you, Papa! I won't ever let them take me!" the small child said through dampened hair and pouted lips._

_And her father knelt down in the snow._

_The looming black dome casting shadows behind them._

_And the wind was howling softly-_

"_You will do what's best for us, my dear."_

_And he gripped her by the forearms._

"_You WILL obey me," he told her firmly._

_Natalia shook her head._

_Her father sighed, but stroked her hair._

"_I will always love you," he told her quietly._

_And then nodded at the other man._

_She held onto her father, looking him right in the eye._

_Papa?-_

_(Papa?-)_

_Her little hands slipping as she was torn away for ever._

_The other man trying to hold her still._

"_Papa, please!"_

_And he dragged her-_

"_Papa, NO!_

_Lift her up into his arms-_

"_NO, PAPA!"_

_And she was stretching out her hands-_

"_NO, PAPA, PLEASE!"_

_The snow and the mist seemed to mirror her screaming. Like it would echo inside her for the rest of her life._

"_PAPA, NO, DON'T LEAVE ME!"_

_A hand reached down and covered her mouth, before pulling her into the horrors that followed. Pulling her in, and slamming the door._

_And that was the last thing she ever heard from her father._

_The man who blew away with the blizzard._

_The only father she had ever known._

Natasha opened her eyes, and gasped for air. Her whole body shivering with panic and sweat.

And she gripped the railing tightly, the coldness doing nothing for her temperature.

In fact, she couldn't feel it.

It didn't exist.

None of this did.

And the ringing in her mind-

_'Papa! Papa, no!'-_

_And she was there-_

_No she wasn't._

_She was here._

"Here," she repeated, against the thudding in her chest. "Here."

Because that's the only thing that mattered.

_Here._

And she shrank back against the metal.

"I- I can't..." she whispered.

And their were tears in her eyes.

* * *

><p>"I hardly think it was a seizure, Sir."<p>

"Well was what it then, Agent Barton? Since you seem to have this all figured out."

"She was scared, Sir. Previous missions have been trying-"

"Budapest?" Fury asked impatiently.

"No, Slovenia, Sir."

"You're suggesting that she has some sort of post-traumatic stress disorder?"

"It's a possibility," Barton added.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Agent Barton. But Natalia Romanova has been trained extensively in espionage and weaponry since the age of four. And you're telling me that she 's developed an extreme anxiety disorder from not so narrowly escaping one man?"

Barton was silent.

"Unless there's something you're not telling me," Fury added with a glare.

_It's none of your business, Barton, _he thought to himself.

But that was the thing, it was his business. But more than that, his job.

_No,_ he decided. _I won't do that to her. _

"With all due respect Sir., I feel that the event in question was more traumatic in person, than it seems in the report. And had you been there-"

"You're loyalties are split, Agent Baton. I can see that now," Fury told him, deeply.

Barton kept quiet for a moment.

"My loyalties remain, Sir., as they have for many years: with S.H.I.E.L.D."

And Director Fury sighed.

But he wasn't disapproving.

"You have been invaluable to this organisation, Agent Barton."

And Clint was surprised to say the least. Fury wasn't exactly the type to be throwing round compliments.

"But never once in the time you've been here has _this _happened."

Barton swallowed.

"If you had froze on the field," he gestured, sitting back. "Agent Romanoff would be dead."

"I understand, Sir., but-"

"Let me finish," Fury said.

"This organisation can't afford liabilities, Agent Barton." He emphasised every word: "And neither can you."

Fury raised his eyebrows, but Barton had nothing to say.

"I had hoped that you and Agent Romanoff would be appointed as a Strike Team."

And Barton was caught off guard.

"Quite a remarkable one at that. But I'm afraid that I can't keep taking your word for how much she's worth to S.H.I.E.L.D. And as director, I can't keep convincing everyone else that she's not dangerous."

"If you give us one more chance, Sir. A mission. An oppertunity to prove ourselves."

Fury lowered his voice: "Agent Barton, I don't pretend that I'm not just as disappointed as you are. Her test scores are impeccable," he told him, solemnly. "She even beat yours!" he exclaimed.

And Fury sighed

"But she's unstable; and frankly so are you, and putting an extraction team in place-"

"Then don't," Barton interrupted. "We go in, we go out. Left to our own devices."

Fury stopped for a moment.

"What you're suggesting is highly dangerous," Fury told him warningly.

And Barton leant forward, a bold look in his eye.

"You want to see with your own eyes what exactly she's worth to S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

He raised his eyebrows daringly.

"Then I'm _telling _you to give us a mission."

Fury stared for a moment.

"Agreed," he said, gravely.

Barton nodded, and stood up from his seat.

"But, Agent Barton."

Clint turned.

"You'd do well do be a little more careful with your metaphors next time."

And he pointed to his eye patch.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: First off, I must apologize for taking so long to update. I had a terrible tummy bug that seemed to drag on forever! What's really annoying though is that I'm going on holidays for a week to celebrate my friend's birthday, and sadly they'll be no internet. But I promise I'll update A.S.A.P.!<strong>

**I know that this chapter wasn't very exciting, but they'll be a lot more action in the next one. And more Agent Coulson if that's okay?**

**As you know, this story is a sequel. But I completely understand if some people who've started reading this one don't want to go back and read The Hawk and His Prey. Bearing this in mind, I'm aware that some lines in this story allude to its predecessor. And that could be confusing for people who haven't read it. So if anyone wants me to explain anything, or write a summary of anything that happened over the course of The Hawk and His Prey, I'll be more than happy to do it. The Black Widow's Venom should be fully readable by its self.**

**Thank you so much to all the people who have followed/favorited this story. I sing your praises! I really did not expect all the reaction that I've gotten. But especially to the reviewers:**

**Elvenya: I'm afraid I use_ way_ too many cliff hangars! I'm really glad that the story got you excited, and I hope that chapter 2 didn't disappoint!**

**The Black Shadowx: Thank you so much! And I'm sorry it took a while to update!**

**Lady Blackhawk of Arendelle: I completely agree! It just doesn't make sense! Clint and Natasha are absolute canon.**

**JWolf28: Awww! Thank you so much! When people say they love your work, it's absolutely priceless!**

**Guest: Thank you for joining me in my frustration! I have utter respect for Mark Ruffalo, but Bruce and Natasha, in your words: 'bleh'! THAT'S A RUMOUR! OH MY THOR! I hadn't even thought of that, thank you so much for your suggestion! I'm going to change it after this!**

**Widow306: Nice to talk to you again! I'm really glad you like it. I was kind of worried, because it's a very different situation compared to The Hawk and His Prey. And new things scare me! So yeah... And concerning Bruce and Natasha, I couldn't have said it better myself!**

**carolzocas: Thank you so much! Your enthusiasm is overwhelming! Clint and Natasha are such a cool ship. They have such a lovely chemistry, and I think by Avengers, a very striking understanding of each other. I have definitely been in that situation on holidays! Everything's still very fuzzy in what's causing these 'episodes', but hopefully the answers will be worth the wait! The girl power aspect is really enthralling, especially since she's one of the first female comic book heroes to make it to the big screen successfully. What you said was not at all 'nonsense'! I really do think she's that grey area between the good and the bad. And I think that that's really the thing that troubles Fury most. I'm completely elated that you think I write her well, and that you like the story so far! I definitely think that Clintasha and Romarogers fans should unite against the Hulk! I'm going to try and shut up now!**

**AthenaMay24: Another very familiar face, so to speak! I can't tell you how relieved I am! That's absolutely true! They built up this stunning partnership in Avengers, only to tear it down in the sequel! Coulson is just terrific! (I have a really weird habit of calling all characters by their last names...) Oh don't worry! I will always treasure the day when my work was called 'awesomeness'...**

**Imagine88. :) (Still no noses...)**


	3. When Words are Meaningless

Agent Coulson always hated S.H.I.E.L.D. at night time. It was a never-ending vault of silence.

Streaks of white light brushed against the metal as he walked, giving the impression that the walls were closing in on him. Monsters growled every time his shoes tapped the ground, and he flinched at his own reflection.

Sometimes Phil considered why he even worked at S.H.I. . at all. He could be doing good else where, no doubt. It then crossed his mind that the people here specialised in being afraid. They were scared of what they didn't know.

And The Unknown loomed here. Always.

The other reason why he worked here (of course) was that it made him feel like a total badass.

"You work late a lot, Agent Coulson."

Phil shrieked loudly, and dropped the bundle of papers he was holding.

He then looked up to find the legendary Agent Romanoff perched just above his head. (And legendary was the right word. A myth even, among his friends at the water cooler, and the break room.)

He was panting with terror, and clutching a pair of sweaty hands behind his back. Leaving behind the fear that Bruce Banner himself had just leapt out of the depths of the building. Or wherever the level nine agents had ended up putting him.

Natasha smiled amusedly, stretching her flawless figure right across the platform.

_The Hawk's Nest_, Phil thought to himself.

"Uh, yes," Phil smiled, awkwardly, realizing that he hadn't spoken for at least a minute.

_What was it, like 1? 2 in the morning?_ he thought to himself. _Why was she here?_

He kept staring and smiling, until his mouth got dry, and the beads on his forehead had trickled down to his chin.

She didn't say anything.

And he finally decided, that he'd do just about anything to escape her intimidating gaze. He bent down clumsily, facing the ground, and picked up the sheet by his feet.

Then all of a sudden there was a thud on the ground, and Natasha was collecting the others.

He opened his mouth, and a syllable came out, but then he rushed to where she was standing.

He grabbed the sheets away from her. "Um, you're a level one, and those papers well they're-"

"What level's Barton?"

"Eight," Phil said, uncomfortably.

Natasha smiled, and raised her eyebrows, with a kind of unspoken 'of course'.

"Those for Fury?" Natasha gestured.

"Yes," Phil nodded, clutching them tightly, and hoping she wouldn't see.

"You're his PA?"

"I attend to his personal database," Phil replied, shyly.

And there was a moment so pungent, that a light bulb should have appeared over Natasha's head.

She took a step closer to him, her pouty lips opened slightly. And he could swear he was glowing bright red.

"I need a favour," she said, enticingly.

He swallowed quickly.

"Um."

And she was playing with the ends of her hair.

"W-what about Barton, I'm sure he would..."

Her eyes completely focused on his.

"L-love to do favours for..." he gestured.

He shook his head fiercely. "I didn't mean-"

"I don't want Barton."

And Coulson was beyond all reaction.

"I want you."

And everything about her oozed with suggestiveness.

Coulson nodded.

She smiled.

But he was still staring, in complete awe of this whole situation.

"Fury's gone, right?"

He nodded. Speech was an impossibility.

"Shall we go?" she asked.

And Coulson, in a semi-conscious state led her to Fury's office.

"W-what are you looking for?" He sat down in the computer chair.

"Oh, don't worry. Nothing personal. Things about me, actually," she said, pacing the room.

"I thought all of your files are on the-"

"All but one," she told him.

He logged in.

"What's the name of the file?" he said, nervously.

"Red Room."

Phil typed.

"X19.64."

"Do you want me to-"

"No. You can go home. I'll lock up."

Phil looked alarmed.

"Or," she started, amused by his reaction. "You can stare at me for the next half hour."

"I'll leave," Phil said quickly. Against every bone is his body told him _not_ to leave the only person Fury didn't trust at S.H.I.E.L.D., alone with its most classified information.

At least he could go do something normal if he was fired. He wondered if S.H.I.E.L.D. agents _got_ fired. Or were they just shot when they did something wrong? Well, either option would be a lot less stressful than being stuck in a room with Natasha.

The door closed gently, and Natasha clicked 'enter' on the keyboard.

An array of photographs surrounded the screen.

Images that Natasha remembered. Lived through. Somehow she thought it would comfort her to look at them. To see the reality rather than the ghosts. She fixed her eyes on one in particular: A Miss Natalia Romanova. Subject: 19.64. Age: Thirteen. Condition: Stable.

And suddenly the room was overflowing with whispers.

They all had said the same of course:

_'Mama!'-_

_'Papa!'-_

_'Help me!'-_

_'Please!'-_

But after a while the words were more meaningless. They all absorbed into one big sea of fear and pain. It wasn't the crying or screaming that haunted her, it was the silence at the end. When the lights turned on, and the rushing stopped. And everything hurt too much to move. She was given a choice.

To live or to die?

To fight or to stop?

Natasha chose to live.

A decision she was beginning to regret.

Her phone rang.

And she turned away from the screen. Quite unaware that anything else existed.

"Hello?" she said, and it sounded croakier than she wanted it to.

"You up?" a relievingly familiar voice replied.

"Well, I am now."

"Fury has a mission for us," Clint explained.

"Does he always call this late?" she asked him.

"It took a little convincing to get us a job, I think that he's punishing us with an early morning flight."

"Why would he need convincing?"

Clint went blank.

"He's just having trust issues, that's all," he lied.

_A breath-_

"Natasha?"

_'Subject __19.64 __is stable.'-_

"You there?"

_'He'll be pleased'-_

"Natasha?"

"Yeah?" she said quickly, the room becoming solid.

And he could hear her raspy breathing.

"Are you okay?"

_'She's special'-_

"Yeah," she answered. "Yeah, I'm fine."

He considered offering to have the plane postponed until tomorrow morning, but Fury was nearly not letting them go as it was.

"I could swing by your apartment and-"

"No."

And she was silent.

"No," she said, trying to sound at least remotely human. "I'll get to S.H.I.E.L.D. by myself."

"Okay," he answered, completely unsure. "I'll meet you there then."

"Bye." And she ended the phone call.

She stared at the screen. Her eyes nearly closing. She wanted to sleep- But no.

And she typed in the words, one at a time. Hoping that he would be on here too. Wanting a picture, just anything.

I-v-a-n P-e-t-r-o-v-i-c-h

_Enter._

_'Papa?" she said into the device. A tear running down her cheek for the first time since he'd left her._

_'Happy birthday, my darling.'_

_She had spent so much time over the years thinking up all the questions she would ask, if she could only see him one more time. But in the moment, her mind went blank._

_'How are you?' he asked._

_It was such a stupid question to ask a child he'd abondoned nearly three years ago, but she couldn't help but be overcome with adoration the moment she heard him speak._

_'Good,' she said sheepishly. Gulping down the tears._

_'I have a very special birthday present for you.'_

_This is enough, she thought to herself. This is all I've ever wanted._

_'There's someone I want you to meet. Look outside,' he whispered._

_Natalia turned to the door, straining her eyes to see through the glass._

_The man that appeared was tall and brawny, but had little patches of grey across his beard. He held himself like any good soldier should, and entered the room with a smile._

_'Sir.' the middle aged man said loudly._

_'Now, Natalia. I would like you to meet Alexei Shostokov. One of the Soviet Union's most impressive war time pilots,' _

_And the words that hit her hard: 'Your husband to be.'_

She shook her head.

And scrolled down through the information. Pressing her wrist right up against her lips as she read.

Yet another betrayal that she could never forgive. But coudln't bring herself to hate him for.

Although the document was purely factual, displaying the figures more than anything, she couldn't help but hear his voice, feel his touch, and long for the days when she was oblivious.

Or long for oblivion itself.

At the bottom of the page there was indeed a picture. A picture of a man from a different world. A picture of a man from a different life. Exactly the way she had left him.

Name: Ivan Petrovich Bezukhow. Citizenship: Russian. Age: 65 Affiliation: Natalia Romanova (see file). Occupation: Member of the Soviet Union.

Status: Deceased.

And she inhaled the perfume on her wrist. Then swallowed.

She reached out her hand (which was already shaking) and touched with one fingertip the top of the image. Running her hand down the whole of his frame. And she would stay there like that. Staring into the eyes of a ghost forever.

But there was a roaring outside.

She exhaled slowly, and pulled away. Exiting the file, and closing the computer. She pushed in the chair and-

She leant on the table.

A quiet moan escaped her.

She screwed her eyes closed, and gritted her teeth, pulling her hand into the shape of a fist. And completely determined to keep being the person that everyone was scared of, she left.

While walking hurriedly to the back of the building, Natasha cursed herself, and swore. There was something so infuriatingly genuine about everything that Barton said. But she had no idea why she had had the urge to spend whole nights in his freaking 'nest'.

He thought she'd been 'at home' of course, at the crappy little apartment that S.H.I.E.L.D. had given her. At least, she assumed that it was crappy. She'd never actually been.

She made her way out of one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s many backdoors. Into a night that would have been completely lifeless, if it weren't for the ridiculously large, glowing plane, in the middle of the tarmac.

"Hey!" Barton shouted, against the rumble of the engine. Quickly running over to her side.

She raised both eyebrows.

"You came round the back?"

"Yeah, I'm still exploring, remember?"

"Right."

"You look tired," he added, sympathetically.

"Well, you did wake me up from my dream about unicorns and lollipops."

He smiled.

"So, where are we going?"

"Paris," he replied.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: Well. It turned out that their mission wasn't this chapter. Not sure how that happened exactly... <strong>**Anyway, thank you so much for all of your patience! And hopefully in the not so distant future we'll be able to see a few more reasons why Natasha is known as the infamous Black _Widow. _But in the meantime, we'll get to see our two favourite spies in action, so to speak. (That isn't what it sounded like.) I also realised that in chapter one I seem to have made quite a monumental mistake, I say that 'Fury narrowed his eye(s) at them'****, this kind of carelessness is sinful!**

**Having seen the Marvel Comic Con panel on Youtube yesterday, I am absolutely _dying _for that trailer! But all the artwork looks amazing, so I'm grateful!**

**Thank you (as always) to all of the people who have followed/favorited this story. (I do not deserve you!) But especially to the reviewers:**

**Widow306: I'm so glad you think so. He's my little pride and joy! Oh awesome! We absolutely need as much Clintasha/Blackhawk stories as possible, the Hulk will not succeed! The set photos so far are just unbelievable, I'm counting down the days! Thank you, I was worried it would be a little uninteresting.**

**Elvenya: Yes, absolutely. I'm hoping to have some good revelations at the end. It'll be nice for them to get away from S.H.I.E.L.D. for a while, the mission should be interesting. At least I hope it will! Yes... *Mysterious face* We shall see how she deals with them around Barton... Thank you so much!**

**ArabianForest: Don't worry about sending it twice! Just thank you for reviewing! I am really grateful for your suggestion, since it was such a stupid thing not to think about in the first place! Absolutely! That. Is. Just. Not. Cool. Haha! I love that idea! I'm really glad you like it!**

**NightandNature: Awww, thank you so much! That really made my day!**

**AthenaMay24: Thank you! Chapter 2 seemed really boring in my mind, but there should be things that come of it! Hopefully this chapter will have some new aspects. It'll be nice in Chapter 4 to head back to the strictly Clint/Natasha interactions, even though quite a lot's changed since The Hawk and His Prey. And that last sentence is one of the most enjoyable sentences I think I've ever read... *Hug***

**Imagine88. :)**


	4. Pick Your Poison

The plane they boarded was, well, as big as it looked on the outside. The interior was functional, but not without some elegance. Rounded bright lights clung to the ceiling overhead, while the long stretch of cabin eventually connected to the cockpit.

"How's your apartment," Clint asked her suddenly, settling himself into a nearby chair.

"Nice," she replied, glancing out of her window.

"Nice?"

"Uh. Huh."

"It couldn't be _that_ bad," Barton laughed.

"I said it was nice," she snapped at him.

And neither of them talked for a moment.

Natasha then sighed, and continued to stare out into the darkness.

"The flight's five hours," he told her, blankly. "I'll let you sleep." And with that he disappeared.

Guilt was something that Natasha simply didn't feel. Period.

At least that's what she told herself.

Falling asleep would be just about the worst thing she could do before this mission. But collapsing from sleep deprivation would probably be the runner up.

She closed her eyes. And instantly understood why keeping someone awake for days was considered an extreme form of torture. Not that that hadn't happened to her before. Terrorists aren't exactly renowned for their creativity. Or anyone else she'd encountered. But there was just something very different about battling yourself. Something much scarier.

At some point though, she did drift off. Well she must have, because it was the sound of Barton's voice that woke her up.

"Natasha," he called. "Natasha."

She gasped, and her eyes flicked open.

"Sorry," he said from the opposite chair, sounding more grave than sorry. "You just sounded..." And he took a moment. "Distressed."

She nodded uneasily. Her face beaded with sweat.

"I'm fine," she added quickly.

And he gestured, unconvinced.

"So," she started, trying to be upbeat. "What are we doing in Paris?"

And Clint stood up from his seat.

"Monsieur Enzo Martin is heir to his family's mansion in eastern Paris. He's now also responsible for all of their wealth, and possessions, after his mother Clara, bit the dust, in some rather hinky car crash. He mostly spends it on booze. And hookers."

"As you do," Natasha added.

"Both his parents, and their parents before them had a great love of art, and have collected many rare artefacts over the years. Among these apparently, is something S.H.I.E.L.D. can't place."

"And by 'can't place', you mean?"

"They don't know what it is. All they _do _know is that it's not from round here. Not from this planet."

"You're serious?" Natasha asked, intently.

"We do have reason to believe that humans aren't the only ones to walk this Earth."

"What like E.T. or something?"

"Your guess is as good as mine."

"So how they find this out?"

And he smiled before saying: "I'm not at liberty to say."

She laughed. "You believe in that crap, that I'm not to be trusted?"

"Technically, I wasn't supposed to tell you what is was at all. But no, I don't think you're some kind of double agent."

"Trust is a dangerous thing. You let your guard down, Agent Barton."

"Oh I never said anything about trust. You're the very last person to be trusted, Natasha Romanoff," he said in a tone that was almost flirtatious.

She smiled, eyes glinting, and raised both her eyebrows.

"Of course he doesn't know what he has, is of any importance."

"Does S.H.I. . think it's dangerous?"

"Honestly. They have no idea. But all we know is that this particular item has been within the family for decades. Tomorrow night he's hosting an exhibition for the rest of the collection. To attract potential buyers."

"And he's selling this... _thing?_

"Apparently not. He refuses. No matter the sum of money we offer him. He wants to keep it as some kind of family heirloom.

"Great time to get sentimental. So we're stealing it then?"

"Sure," he said casually, grabbing a duffle bag from under his seat.

_Finally_, she thought to herself.

"Damn it!" he barked, unzipping the bag.

"What?"

"It's another suit," he said. And he glared at it, contemptuously.

She snorted.

"How's mine?"

He looked inside the bag, and then turned to her, smiling. "_Nice_," he uttered, doing a fake, high pitched impression.

She threw her jacket on the chair at him. While he cowered and grinned, and begged the Black Widow for mercy. But within a few moments they were both in stitches laughing.

"Sir." the pilot said, appearing just in front of them.

And Barton made an effort to stop giggling.

"We'll be landing in the next fifteen minutes."

"Great," Clint said, pulling the jacket down onto his lap.

And the pilot glanced at Natasha disapprovingly, before making back down the stretch of cabin.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. has a safe house somewhere along the bank of the river Seine. We'll be able to get ready there. You brought your own stuff, right?"

"Yeah," she answered quietly, clutching a backpack beside her.

"It looks a little small."

"I like to travel light," she told him.

It wasn't long before the aircraft landed, and the pilot left his post to drive them to the safe house.

Paris was beautiful. Natasha understood that much. But watching the scenery rush by, out of the car's sleek windows, was almost like looking at a postcard. Something you accept as remarkably attractive, but feel so far away from.

And when she looked at Barton, his life. The people who surrounded him, and made him feel wanted. She felt just as isolated.

But at the end of the day, and Natasha looked around her. The world was a cold and distant place. A darkness that was out to get her. And all its people with it.

For how can you belong, in a world you don't believe in?

The car stopped suddenly, and Natasha jerked forward.

"May I have a word, Sir.?" the pilot/driver asked.

"Sure," Clint answered, a little confused.

"Alone."

And Natasha sighed loudly.

He turned to her. "Natasha-"

"Yup," she interrupted, getting out of the car.

She sat on the widow sill of the tall brick building. It really didn't look like a safe house.

"Director Fury was very stern when he told me, that you're not, and I quote: 'to let her out of your sight.'"

"That's understood," Barton told him, just a tiny bit pissed off.

And he reached for the door handle.

"Also."

Barton stopped, and sighed.

"He said to remind you that there are _regulations_." And he said the work spitefully. "About keeping certain boundaries between agents."

Barton had just about had enough of this guy.

"Especially physical boundaries," he added.

Clint clenched his fist around the door handle, debating whether he was going to leave, or punch this ass in the face.

He smiled fakely, and chose the former. Slamming the door with a piercing noise. And grabbing their bag from the trunk.

"You okay?" Natasha asked amusedly, swinging her legs from where she sat.

"Yeah," he replied, watching the car drive away.

"You look all..." she gestured. "Butch."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"What was he saying?"

"Nothing important."

"Let me guess: don't trust the murderous whore?"

"Something like that," he told her, calmly.

"Cool," she uttered.

"It's six hours ahead here. Which means we have about an hour to get ready."

Barton walked up to the weathered looking doorstep, and twisted his key in the lock.

"I'll fill you in on the plan inside."

The inside of the building nearly mirrored the outside , excluding the few chairs, and the wardrobe in the corner.

"I'll let you get changed first." And he placed their heavy duffle bag in the middle of the floor.

"Oh relax," she told him, playfully. "We're both grown ups here. Taking turns will just take longer. We've got one whole room. There's no reason why we can't turn our backs to each other."

"Great," he said, half smiling.

And he grabbed his hated outfit from the layers of the bag.

"So, this plan?" she asked, unzipping her suit.

"Right. The whole place is heavily guarded. He hasn't spared any expense on security. So Fury thought the best idea was to be members of the guest list. You speak French?"

"I'm fluent."

"Then we should be okay."

"So I'm guessing Fury's put me _right _in the line of fire."

"More or less," Clint nodded. "But I'm the decoy, so pick your poison."

Natasha was pulling up the straps of her costume at this point. A rather elegant, full length black dress. Adorned with what looked like a diamond necklace.

"So who gave you this thing?You haven't stopped wearing it." He twirled it. "It says your name and everything."

Natasha turned, and her eyes opened wide.

"Give it to me!" she shouted, grabbing the bottle from Barton's hands.

"Sorry," he told her, completely confused.

She nestled it between her fingers and placed it back inside her bag.

"It must have been someone special," he added.

"Yeah," she told him, flippantly.

And there was the slightest spark of jealousy within him.

He stared at her fixing the messy bun in her hair, which had just got an awful lot messier.

"Sorry," he told her again.

She made her way over to him, and sighed at the state of his collar.

"What is it with men never being able to do up a tie properly?"

And she pulled the piece of fabric loose.

"That dress is very becoming."

"Oh so you're buttering me up now?"

He chuckled. "I'm serious. You look like freaking Scarlett Johansson."

"Great. Then you're that sexy guy from The Hurt Locker."

They both smiled.

"There," she said, stepping back. "You're _beautiful_."

He snorted.

"So, what kind of weapons are we bringing?"

"Nothing bold." And he opened the door of the wardrobe, displaying the arsenal in full. "You have a handgun?"

"Sure."

"Well let's go with that then," he told her.

For reasons unknown to Natasha, Clint was completely against calling the driver up, and was determined to get a cab. But the main thing was that they arrived on time.

Natasha stepped out of the car, followed by Clint, which was parked a few metres away from the main entrance. And they stood in the gleam of the luminous shadow. Every bit a mansion as the word suggests.

"Our names are Maurice and Lorette Mathieu," Barton told her.

"We're married?"

"Apparently."

"Take my arm." And she held it out.

"What?"

"It's what married people do. C'mon."

He looped his arm around hers, and they headed for the door.

"By the way, I never asked you. What was your score on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s little entrance exam?"

"The physical assessment?"

She nodded.

"Ninety eight."

"Ha! A hundred."

"Bitch."

She laughed. "Jerk."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: I don't know if any of you watch Supernatural. But if you do, behold the reference! So. As it turns out this chapter wasn't really the mission either. But next chapter: I PROMISE! It turned out to be a kind of bonding chapter, which I think will be kind of important in the context of future events. ...Wow that's really cryptic. But all I <em>can<em> say is that we'll be looking at a very different side of Natasha sometime soon. One that I think neither Barton nor especially Natasha herself are going to be able to deal with. And after that, I can honestly say that in terms of their relationship, things are going to get worse before they get better. ...Hmmm, but I have to say something about that perfume seems fishy...**

**Thank you so much to all the people who have followed/favorited this story. I hope that things are getting interesting. But a super-de-duper Hulk size (except not, because I can't help begrudging him now) thank you to all of the reviewers:**

**Widow306: Sorry again about the delay with chapter 3! I'm really glad you liked it. The panel was amazing! There's nothing cooler than seeing a cast like one big family! If only Scarlett or Joss could have been there though. Both had very legitimate excuses. Absolutely dying! I completely agree.**

**carolzocas (chapters 2 & 3): Oh don't worry! I'm indebted to you for reading in the first place! I'm ecstatic that you liked chapter 2! It was a very I'm-setting-things-up-now chapter, but yeah, hopefully those aspects will make sense eventually. She was definitely way too young, I empathise with her a lot. Hmmm... Triggers, triggers, triggers... We'll have to wait and see... Yes, whether she likes it or not, she's going to have to open up to Clint in some shape or form. The repercussions will be the telling thing! There's definitely a void there between them being friends, and being romantically involved. And I think half of that is that can two highly dysfunctional assassins ever be romantic? But they will get closer, I'm sure of that! And the next chapter might hold a little something towards the romantic side of things... He is very perfect! No! No! No! Don't ever say that! I promise that no review I've ever had has been even remotely boring! Happy to meet a fellow angst fan! And so glad you like it! Lots more to come! Sorry this is so long, but thanks!**

**beverlie4055: THANK YOU VERY MUCH!**

**ArabianForest: Countdowns are fantastic! I'm guessing you live in America, apologies if I'm wrong. But I know it premiers on the 1st of May over there. I live in Ireland, so fortunately it premiers just one week before! 261 days! I have plans to go to the midnight showing on the first night, but yeah, very exciting either way! That is a really good point! Poor New York always gets picked on! Thank you very much! Glad you're enjoying it!**

**AthenaMay24: Thank you for returning my hug! I'm so excited that you're excited! (Very sorry. My vocabulary is just non-existent at the end of author's notes!) The upcoming mission will hopefully be good. Emphasis on hopefully! I don't trust myself to write spy stuff well! I'm dying to spill what the cause is behind this little adventure, but Natasha's past, yay! Should be interesting! I CAN'T THANK YOU ENOUGH FOR SAYING THAT! Phil was originally just a character who'd be in there just because there's S.H.I.E.L.D., and therefore there must be Phil! But honestly, he is my little gem! I just absolutely love writing him! And it makes no sense! Their relationship is so precious to me, and I am just elated that you like it! He's a very sweet person, and hopefully next chapter we'll get to see something (indirectly) he does for Natasha. You make a lot more sense than me! **

**Any kind of review would be wonderful.**

**Imagine88 :)**


	5. The One and Only

_**'She was not a miracle. She was not an adventure. She was not a fine and precious thing. **_

_**She was a girl.'**_

**(Paper Towns by John Green)**

* * *

><p>"Monsieur et Madame Mathieu," Barton announced, as soon as they reached the entrance. The doorstep beneath them catching the light.<p>

"Maurice et Lorette?" the doorman questioned, scanning a list that he held at his side.

"Oui," Natasha beamed. Leaning her head against Barton's shoulder.

_She's a proper little actress_, he thought to himself.

The doorman smiled. "Bienvenue."

Natasha took the step up, lifting her dress at the bottom slightly. And Clint quickly followed, their arms still intertwined.

The room that they entered was vividly white. That kind of despicably "modern" design. A collection of paintings encircled the room. And a large glass container was displayed in the middle.

Barton and Natasha examined their surroundings. In each of them a distinctly _different _mental map; exploring every possibility.

Then Natasha heard a hum in the midst of the background. Like a kind of a buzzing sound that went straight to her head. It felt pleasant at first, comforting almost, and she tried to listen more. The colours in the room slowly smudging. She could hear herself breathing, and the thudding in her chest, both adding nicely to the symphony. She felt her eyes closing and- _No... No, she- She..._

She quickly turned to Barton, establishing reality. She now realised, that over the past few weeks it had always been the subtle sensations that uprooted her. Her lack of consciousness made her more vulnerable. And that focusing on the wrong things at the wrong time, could, and would bring her back inside her head: the only Hell that she believed in.

She was staring at his moving lips, when the room stopped still completely. And the smoky smell of perfume overwhelmed her.

That was what pushed over the edge.

And she slowly submerged in a wave of relief.

She inhaled slowly, the world turning yellow. Glimmering around her, and melting like honey. A warmness egulfed her, and she exhaled again.

The thrum in her mind beat faster.

She then turned to Barton, who was suddenly beside her. His face lighting up, and his smile stretching wide. He held out his hand, silently laughing. And she pressed down her fingers in the centre of his palm.

"Natasha," he said, in the way that he said it.

She found herself grinning, like in the stupid kind of way that she'd always despised. The humming in her brain like a projection of her happiness.

Now it was true that Natasha had no idea what had changed in the past minute and a half, compared to the other twenty-four years of her life. But she found herself whole-heartedly not caring. She felt groggy, confused, and by no means sane.

But she was happy.

The word had meaning. And that was more than enough for Black Widow.

Clint's fist curled around hers. And it sounded like he'd said something. Her name again, perhaps. She hadn't been listening. Of course she didn't need to. Questions and answers were far away memories in this sticky golden blur.

He gazed down at her hand. Moving closer towards it. And she thought he might kiss her, so somehow she smiled.

And that was when it happened.

A _snap_.

Her wrist twisted backwards. And she screamed. And it bled. The world of honey collapsing on itself, and trying to drown her from every direction. Barton roared with laughter. Natasha's own blood coursing through the liquid. The sea growing thick and turning red.

"IT'S NOTHING, YOU KNOW!"

_His voice was on fire._

"NOTHING COMPARED TO THE BLOOD ON YOUR HANDS!"

_The depths of it tearing through her._

"YOU DON'T DESERVE PARADISE!"

_She screamed, and fell backwards._

"YOU DON'T DESERVE DEATH!"

_And he gripped her by the arms._

"YOU DESERVE _THIS_, NATASHA ROMANOFF! THIS IS YOUR FATE!"

_And she fell below the surface-_

"Natasha?"

And the shock of silence echoed.

"Yeah."

_Well what the hell else was there to say?_

"I-" And his eyes wandered down to where their arms were connected. And it was only then that she realised how tight she was holding him. She stared at her arm for a moment, and furrowed her brow, almost forgetting how to move it.

"I-" he said again, still looking at their arms. "You're freezing."

She let go of him suddenly. Red and white marks appearing on his skin. And tried to say something, but no words escaped her.

He looked at her eyes. And she looked at his. Her forehead shone with drops of sweat, and she seemed completely-

"Oh save it, Barton."

_Natasha once more_, he thought to himself.

"You try the whole 'I'll give you my coat' routine on me, you're gonna get kicked. In some very tender places. And I'm wearing heels, so picture that," she told him, eyebrows raised.

"Can't argue with that," he retorted, holding out his arm for her.

She wrapped her own around it, cautiously. Tiny flickers of the other Barton flashing through his eyes. Those few final words of his booming inside her.

"Did you hear what I was saying about the-"

"I got the jist," she told him quickly.

She was looking around, openly ignoring him.

"Okay."

But he was used to it now: this continuous pattern. And each time he would invent worse and worse ways to ask her what was wrong. Until finally he concluded she would never answer anyway.

"Staircase," she said, nodding towards it, just as they approached the back wall of the room. "It'll take me about three minutes to reach the top floor." And before he could speak, she was walking away.

"Wait!" he whispered, loudly.

She turned her face to him, annoyed.

"You sure you know what you're doing?"

She sighed and leaned forward. "I go up the stairs, you distract security. I go get the thing, and then we leave. Really not the most complicated plan I've ever dealt with."

"Keep in contact!" he told her. And shook his head as she walked off.

Clint made his way towards the center of the room, the only empty spot there was. Masses of people crowded around him. All so swept up in their own little minds, and their own little worlds. Sometimes he envied them. And sometimes he laughed. But most of the time he didn't know what to think.

This life was uncertain. This job. This path. Except for one thing: none of their little lives would exist without people like him. And that seemed like enough of a reason to go on. Very few people had such a terrible privilege.

A waiter approached, and offered him a glass of champagne. He accepted with a smile, and was reminded of the party in Slovenia. A lifetime ago, it seemed.

_Natasha hasn't changed much_, he decided to himself.

But when he pictured her then: her knee length red dress, her abundance of cleavage, her alluring bright smile. He realised she _was _different. Unmistakably so. He knew that she pretended. That she lied, and that she hid. But he knew Natasha Romanoff. And she was never lifeless.

Clint spun his eyes around the room. He counted six security guards in total. And that seemed a bit, well, excessive. He took a sip of champagne from his glass, reaching with his other hand inside his jacket. He walked over to a table, and placed the glass down. Glancing briefly at the guards. He flicked on the lighter that he held in his hand, and lit the cigarette. Placing it slowly between his teeth.

Immediately, one of the guards (the one in the corner) shot him a look, and hurried towards him. He smiled first at Barton, obviously instructed to say things politely.

"Excuse me, Sir."

Barton turned slowly.

"Yes, hello. I'm afraid this is a _no smoking area_," he told Clint, gently.

"Is that right?" Clint replied, in his best French accent.

"I'm afraid so, Sir."

Barton took another puff.

"I'm going to have to ask you to put that thing out."

Clint stared, indifferent.

"Or I'll have to escort you outside," the man added, softly.

"What kind of a deal do you think the owner could make me, if I took, let's say, the entire collection?"

Barton handed him his offer on a folded up sheet of paper.

"I will go and call Monsieur Martin," the man said, apologetically. Hanging his head, he took the piece of paper, and quickly made his way across the room.

Barton narrowed his eyes at the remaining security guards, before placing a finger against the wedge in his ear.

"Natasha?" he asked.

"The one and only," she sighed. And it was like he could hear the grin in her voice.

He always thought Natasha could make a great many things. But her talent as an actress was unequalled. He often seemed to pride himself in knowing who she was. But sometimes he wondered if she acted all the time. If the woman that he knew was just another facade. Perhaps she had lost herself a long time ago.

"You there?" he asked.

"I'm about a corridor away."

"He should be heading down here in less than a minute. I'll buy you as much time as I can."

Natasha swung round another glossy white corner, and instantly wrenched herself back.

"He's leaving alright," she said to Clint, quietly. Watching Martin in a struggle with his keys.

"Problem?" he asked her.

"Nothing I can't handle."

"Would you tell me if you couldn't?" And there was truth is his words.

"Ha, ha," she replied. "Don't screw up."

And that was as much as a goodbye as he would get.

Barton turned just in time to see Mr. Martin making his way down the staircase.

"J'ai entendu dire que vous avez un intérêt dans notre petite collection," the man announced, with his arms out in front of him, and a smile on his face. "Laissez-nous discuter, Monsieur Mathieu."

"Bon," Barton answered. "I'd very much like to be taken through the artwork by the owner himself. If that isn't a problem, of course?"

"Très bien," Martin replied. And shuffled to a decorated corner of the wall. "Then there is no better place to start then van Loo."

Barton raised an eyebrow, and slowly followed.

"A bottle of champagne!" the owner shouted, at an unsuspecting waiter, who then darted out of sight. "Or would you prefer something else?"

"Champagne will be fine," Barton told him.

"Your wife is here with you, is she not?"

"Yes, Lorette is... using the bathroom. She's usually quite shy on social occasions."

"Ah, a delicate flower," the owner added.

Barton smiled at the irony. "Precisely," he said.

* * *

><p>Natasha sighed. "What an idiot," she muttered, as the door swung open at the lightest twist of her hair clip. She stood at the doorway, scanning the room. A camera rotated from side to side, on the wall behind the desk. And a motion sensor flashed in the corner.<p>

But thanks to the little nerds at S.H.I.E.L.D. camera footage wouldn't be a problem. They called it 'project blindfold' (which was just as terrible a name as all of their other projects). A computer program designed to give the impression of a camera picking up the footage in its area, even after being hacked. The way it worked was that the hacker in question would gain access to the camera's memory, allowing them to create a loop of footage showing hours of no activity.

It was pretty neat. But Natasha kept that opinion to herself.

She noticed pens, paper, and various brands of alcohol scattered across the desk. And almost falling off the edge, was a hat.

Natasha shifted her eyes towards the corner. Narrowing her eyes at the words above the keypad: MOTION SENSOR ARMING. See that was the issue with most security devices, they only start working about forty seconds after you tell them to. And Mr. Martin had left at least thirty five ago.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: I can't say how sorry I am for the monumental delay, it was due to personal reasons, so thank you so much for your patience. First of all, the John Green quote goes out to a brilliant friend. Who threatened to burn me, skin me alive, and make me into shoes if I didn't upload soon... So thanks. Your methods of motivation are never uncreative! <strong>**Sadly, because I'm back in purgatory (a.k.a. school) the updates won't be as fast as they previously were. And I feel terrible about it, but I do all of my schoolwork in the hope that one day I can write full time. And God, that day can't come soon enough! I can't say how grateful I am to all of you guys for sticking with this story. Nothing motivates more than all the wonderful feedback!(Except for death threats... They seem to work too). I don't think there's anything much to add about this chapter. Just that there will be more of the mission coming! Any suggestions are whole-heartedly welcome. **

**And now, on to the important ones:**

_**JWolf28: Thank you so much! I'm absolutely speechless! One of the important aspects of this story to me, is that both Clint and Natasha are two incredibly flawed individuals. And I think that portraying them without their imperfections, is like not portraying them at all. I'm elated that you think I convey their emotions well! Awww... I think that's one of the nicest things an author can hear. A lot of people mentioned that, I'm enthralled that it took so well! Such an inspirational review. Thank you.**_

_**carolzocas: (I can tell this is going to be long!) No he definitely doesn't. To be honest I considered that as a story idea, that Natasha is framed as a double agent or something. She would absolutely have the talent to pretend to work for S.H.I.E.L.D. And I think Barton is probably the only reason that she doesn't. Any kind of those mistakes are completely paper thin! There's one particular story on this website written by a Mexican girl, who speaks English as her second language. Therefore there's a lot of both spelling and grammar errors throughout the text. But it's one of the most beautiful, thought provoking stories I've ever read! I can tell from your reviews you've got a great sense of creativity and analytical abilities. I think your opinions about Clint and Natasha are spot on! I see no reason why you couldn't write something. I for one, would definitely read it. The angst is an important element. And I'm so glad you like it! The flirting is probably one of my favourite things to write. They really play off each other like that. And who knows? Maybe next chapter we might see a little something... Hehe. I like to see it as a journey myself, and I'm so glad you do too. And I think by the end of this particular story we'll be closer than ever to the Clint and Natasha conveyed in Avengers. I'm surprised people liked the comparison to the actors so much, but thank you! It was a fun idea to include! The balance is probably the thing I stress the most! It's such a relief when someone says it worked. Your reviews are absolutely perfect! Discussing these things feels wonderful! But my responses are always more all over the place than your reviews! Thank you!**_

_**RennerBartonFangirl: Thank you so much! Two very fun lines to create!**_

_**Widow306: I'm touched! And I'm so glad you weren't disappointed! I did! It was straight to the point, but very sweet. Kind of like Scarlett herself!**_

_**AthenaMay24: I'm really relieved! Because I expected a communal sigh from the readers! You're all too nice to complain though! Pft, sentences! With artefacts from outer space there are no limits! ...But this particular object turns out to be pretty predictable. Sorry. :/ But I love when people speculate! It's awesome! (Ponder is a great word. Note to self: use ponder more...) Thank you so much! That stuff's the most enjoyable to write! Sorry again that the wait was so long! I actually do get that reference! *Sigh of relief* But only barely! I don't frequent certain television shows as much as I should! Cyber hugs are great though...**_

_**Elvenya: Much appreciated! I hope that the action is beginning to show!**_

_**Juliet Riversong: That really means the world to me! They're a wonderful pairing, and so intriguing individually. I'm elated that you think I do them justice. Sorry that the wait was so ridiculous!**_

**_ArabianForest: I've lived here since I was four. It's a magical place. I. Would. Die. That would be amazing! Aeroplane costs are just so preposterous. There's probably a reason, but I've always wondered that. Hmmm... There will be uproar if he's offed! Not at all. I am happy to say that I'm obsessed with Avengers. And I never get tired of talking with fans! It almost makes me feel old! ...God! Three years! Perfectly put. Yes, I think she will. Thank you so much for another lovely review._**

**_KatieBug1017: Haha! I'm really glad you got it! I was ridiculously excited to put it in there!_**

**_WipeATearFromAnEye: What is there to say to you? You scared me half to death! *Cyber hug* "Atta, girl" felt awesome... I love and cherish you, **_anonymous_**._**

**Thank you so much for the thirty reviews.**

**Imagine88. :)**


	6. Blue Raspberry

**Forewarning: This chapter contains some long awaited plot twists which may require some ****recall (if you're in anyway like me, who has all but forgotten her own story). In particular, chapter two, three and five of this story, as well as chapters one and four of its prequel "The Hawk and his Prey". (You may also just have a half decent brain which can remember things.) **

**The characters Moon, Frey and Ingram are my own creation. (I've tried to buy Phil from them. It didn't work.)**

**P.S. SO GLAD TO BE BACK! (See Author's Note.) **

* * *

><p>"Coulson?"<p>

"Mmm?"

"Coulson, the bag?"

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry."

"You getting anywhere?" Ingram asked, wafting through the bag of Skittles with his long, picky fingers.

"No," Phil whined, exasperated.

Ingram snapped a blue raspberry Skittle between his teeth and sucked thoughtfully on its chewy remains.

"I like this trash can under your desk."

"What trash can?"

"This trash can." Ingram kicked it.

"Oh yeah. That's my Christmas trash can."

"Well that's one really freaking handy little trash can. I never thought to put a trash can like that under my desk."

"Well it's not like The Powers That Be have ordained to put any kind of garbage container on the third floor. What are we supposed to do, eat it? It'll save you the trek down to Fluid Dynamics."

"_Jesus_, you're right," he rasped. "Have you ever met those people?"

"Not that I remember."

"That's a scary place, Phil. Never go there alone."

Coulson groaned and grit his teeth, and his left fist landed noisily on the edge of the desk. "Waluigi's just such a dick!"

"I know, right? Hang in there, bro."

"Oh, Jesus! Just talk to me! Say anything. It'll help with my nerves."

"Right. Okay." He spun around on his chair. "So... I was working late last Wednesday night."

"Yeah?"

"Uh huh. Dealing with the international calls," he stated gingerly.

"So there's me at 2am just off the phone with the secretary at S.T.R.I.K.E. when suddenly I hear this... _shriek_."

Phil pursed his lips. He could feel a sickeningly familiar feeling rising in the pit of his belly.

"Now I mean I'm pretty sure I'm not the full shilling, _it is_ like the middle of the night, and you know how it is, that building- well, it just isn't meant to be empty. But see I also keep in mind that this isn't the first time that some poor hardworking bastard thought he heard a shriek from the other side of the building and dismissed it at his peril. I don't fancy being that bastard so I decide to investigate."

"I get to about the third floor before I hear these voices, and I'm standing by that monster of a window in the level six mini-lounge when I catch a glimpse of something moving. A guy standing on the bottom floor, looking up at the ceiling. And then I see her."

Ingram stops and scans the aisle in each direction. Coulson follows his gaze, distracted, and frankly, in shock, praying, praying, praying, that it couldn't possibly be-

"The Russian chic, _your _Russian chic!" he hisses warily, "perched all seductive-like, swinging her legs over the side of Barton's ivory tower-"

_OH, we're done for! _thought Phil.

"-and then before I know it she's standing on the ground, a hair's breadth away from him, _saying all kinds of things_, you know I've never seen a girl, I mean like a real girl, so twiddly, and just like,shamelessly flirty in all of my life!"

_You are a very STUPID and NASTY man, Phil Coulson!_

"I was actually disgusted. Quite…? Yeah. Disgusted."

Coulson had to close his eyes. Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink it all away.

"Hmm. And then before I know it he's just laughing, and I can hear the ups and downs of his voice as if he were sitting right next to me - kind of like a bat, like a super dorky, pervy bat, in mating season; and then he's turning, and he's turning just _the slightest little bit_- and suddenly it hits me. I know this guy...

"Yeah, o-"

"I know this guy…" Ingram whispers dramatically.

"Not only do I know him, he's that guy I bribe my five-year olds to give me their Nintendo for, and eat non-existent flavours of candy with, just so we can play video games and pretend to be smug and irresponsible when nobody's around! Even though we're like the only ones who work through lunch on a Friday! Next thing I know they're heading towards the training facility, Phil Coulson as twitchy as you like!"

He folded his arms, eyebrows raised, trying desperately to swallow a grin. If there ever was a hint of irritability it didn't exist anymore. Coulson could practically feel the reverberation of his screwed-ness swirling all around him.

_I'm going to puke_. _Please don't puke, _Phil thought to himself.

"So? What am I to make of all that?"

"..."

"Phil?" a voice calls.

Yoshi and Blue Toad are still in mid-jump. Phil places the game down on the desk, and turns; and he looks at Ingram. He swallows again. Ingram's looking back at him.

"_Phil_," the voice calls, a little more urgent.

He feels himself squirming in his chair.

He opens his mouth-

He jumps.

"No! No! No!" Ingram shouted, wrenching him backwards.

"Let go of me!" Coulson whined,

"You're _going_ to tell me. _What. You. Were. Doing. With. Little. Miss_-"

"Agh!" Coulson squealed as Ingram's hand slipped and Phil was thrown forward. He wasted no time and pushed himself up off his hunkers immediately after landing, and bounded away from the desk.

He heard: "I'm proud of you, really!" and a laugh in the distance, before slamming right into Emmeline.

"S-" His voice broke almost instantly.

She hugged her arms to her chest and looked up at him nonchalantly.

"Are you... okay? I didn't mean-" He shook his head fervently.

"I'm- It's- It's fine." She held her hands up in defeat.

"Moon needs you in the Casemate."

"Oh... Okay. Moo- Wh- Why does Moon need me?"

"Your Strike Team's in trouble."

* * *

><p>"Blindfold's down."<p>

"You're kidding me! How is that possible?"

"I have a PhD in Astrochemistry, Phil. Please don't ask me to make a power point let alone find the hole in Moon's security system."

As they made their way up to the fourth floor, Phil found himself too fixated on Emmeline - waddling hurriedly down the hall (she really wasn't a waddler under normal circumstances) - to press any further about the matter.

"I know," she told him wearily. "I'm a hard boiled egg on stilts."

Phil smiled. "Ingram says Ratana's taking the twins to kick boxing tonight. We could come over after work to paint the room, if you want?"

"Yeah, absolutely."

"We charge by the hour."

"I'll order you a pizza."

"Done."

"Phil?" Emmeline asked, after a moment.

"Yeah."

She smiled. An unusually glittery, devious smile.

"Ingram came down to IT this morning-"

"Oh my God," Phil uttered.

"So that's it then, you're hot for the-"

Emmeline was cut short.

Phil looked up. Director Fury was blocking the stairway.

"Agent Coulson."

"S-Sir," Phil said, confusedly.

"Frey, I thought I sent you to IT for the time being."

"You did, Sir." Emmeline replied impassively. "Moon wants Agent Coulson in the Casemate; I've been informed that Strike Team Delta is-"

"I thought I sent you to IT, Agent Frey, _not_ the Strike Team unit."

"With all due respect, Sir. I think you'll find that Agent Moon's department can, _and is_, readily described as IT. Unlike some other IT personnel, however, he just happens to be operating on the ground."

"Look after your friend, Agent Coulson. God knows I've tried everything to save her from her own ambition. We're lucky to have you, Agent Frey. I'll have you returned to your lab as soon as possible."

Emmeline nodded, and tried to repress an unmistakably triumphant smile.

"But not before you take some time off," Fury warned. "As talented as my agents are, I don't think they're fully equipped to deliver a baby in the middle of the hall. We'll have plenty to discuss after your vacation," Director Fury told her seriously.

She nodded again, guarded this time.

"Agent Coulson, you're coming with me."

* * *

><p>Coulson cautiously lowered himself into the almost black, red leather armchair diagonally opposite Fury's desk.<p>

"Don't you usually take the other one?" he asked.

Coulson stopped, mid-crouch.

"The green one," Fury said.

Coulson was speechless.

"Never mind," Fury said.

Coulson stared at the carpet, deeply disquieted, and gently sat down on the edge of the seat.

"Sir. I... What about Barton and…?

"Who's down there?"

"Moone, Frey. Oh, and Ingram."

"There you see, they're well looked after."

"But, Sir.?" Coulson persisted. "Nothing's working. Agent Barton, Agent Romanoff, they're completely out in the open, and the only one down there who actually knows about the programme is Moone. Frey doesn't even work in IT."

Fury had turned his back to Coulson. He breathed deeply, thoughtfully. Assertively.

"Paris is a bust."

"S-Sorry, what?

"The treasure they're after. It's a fake. The Martin family is all talk."

"How did you find out?"

Fury smiled.

"I've always known, Agent Coulson."

"Then why did you…?"

"I needed some leg room." He turned towards Coulson again, suddenly all the more animated. "I've sent Agent Barton to do a job for me."

"What kind of job?"

"Natasha Romanoff."

Phil was taken aback.

"I- What is…?"

"What is he going to do to her? I like to think I have a nice tree, Agent Coulson. I've put a lot of effort into expanding it and making sure it bears the right kind of fruit. The last thing I need is a rotten apple. It really distracts from the bigger picture. Romanoff's a little off balance at the moment. I don't know what she's playing at, but I want answers."

Coulson found his tone of voice grim, unsettled, and slightly invigorated. As usual, he had no idea what that meant for anyone.

"Do you know what happened in Slovenia, Agent Coulson?"

"He recruited her?" Phil said meekly.

"_I _recruited her. Barton had nothing to do with it, but he did… find a window. Something we'd discussed a long time ago. Miss Romanoff has had a singular upbringing. Hasn't seen a lot of romance, I'd imagine. He told her a story about a lonely little boy locked in a cycle of violence and manipulation. He had to improvise a little. I made sure he knew enough about her to make it closer to home."

Phil was at a loss for words. Less than comfortable memories of Ingram's interrogation earlier put him off the idea, but he could feel it in his chest, an underlying, inexplicable sense of betrayal. _God, maybe I am hot for her_. The thought was infinitely alarming.

Fury stared at him curiously.

"Don't get me wrong, Agent Coulson, he likes her. He's always liked her. That's good. That's a nice, solid foundation."

"I'm not sure what you're getting at," Phil said with an undertone of aversion.

"How long do you think Miss Romanoff's been on our radar?"

"Well…" He considered it. "Ingram's tracked KGB operatives for months, sometimes a year before-"

"Try six. The Super Soldier Serum's old news to the rest of the Scientific World, but S.H.I.E.L.D. has never stopped looking for it. Here's something even Agent Barton doesn't know. I oversaw this one myself. It's almost too perfect, isn't it? Barton and Romanoff. A little Casino Royale. You've seen them together. I have over a million assassins at my disposal, so why did I choose an archer for a sniper's job?"

"Because that wasn't the important part," Phil said quietly.

"I have Barton in here with the notion that it's him who's convinced me of Strike Team Delta, as if somehow they've chosen each other. Slovenia was never an assault mission, more like an extraction; and the team, well let's just say it's been in the works a whole lot longer than the name Natasha Romanoff has. I didn't just match their skill sets, Agent Coulson."

"How?" Coulson uttered.

"Six years is a very long time. Definitely sufficient to find out what kind of company Miss Romanoff keeps. However briefly. And even you could tell me what Barton likes. He's hardly discreet in that area. Still, a bit of a shot in the dark, the mysterious Tsarina. Can't say it didn't pan out. I mean she's here, isn't she?"

"You never told me why you wanted me here," Coulson said stiffly.

"I want you to oversee the superior half of the mission. He's going to convince her to stay at his apartment tonight, after Paris is taken care of. He'll have information by then. I want you to collect it for me."

_I guess painting's off then_, Phil thought to himself.

"What is the fake, anyway? In Paris?" Coulson asked.

"It's a poor quality lookalike. Only a fraction of the treasure's real size."

"A lookalike of what?"

Fury looked at him. Hard.

"A game changer."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: First of all I have to apologise to my wonderful readers for almost a year and a half of radio silence. When many of you said you were "patiently" awaiting my next chapter, I doubt this was what you had in mind! Frustratingly, I'm in an exam year at the moment, which means that most of my creative writing takes place under my bed covers after 12am! I just wanted to say that I never for one moment stopped thinking about this story and its characters, and would never willingly leave it incomplete.<br>**

**I'd be incredibly interested to hear your thoughts on Age of Ultron, especially regarding Natasha and Clint! Also, concerning the upcoming Civil War, which will definitely turn some old alliances on their heads. I for one am really hoping to see some kind of stand off between Natasha and Clint, it seems like there's a lot of room for some long awaited tension there. I'm also dying to know why they chose opposing sides!**

**I really hope you enjoyed this chapter. In the end it was a pleasure to write something you wouldn't usually see in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. A group of everyday, down-to-earth office workers going about their daily routine. Hopefully you're also looking forward to a little more treachery between our favourite Strike Team going forward.**

**As usual, you know I love input. Any suggestions or criticisms, I'm all ears. Reviews are very much appreciated.**

**A very big thank you to all of the people who have followed/favourited this story in recent months, and in particular to my unimpeachable reviewers:**

_**JWolf28: Much appreciated! So glad you enjoyed it!**_

_**beverlie4055: Thank you so much! :D**_

_**WipeATearFromAnEye: MERRY FREAKING CHRISTMAS! (I'm still getting you a physical present though, Wipey...) In response to your previous review: PFFFT! However, I am required to thank you. If we're playing the Buffy game, then your reviews are like the kiss at the end of Once More With Feeling. (ADORE YOU. XXX)**_

_**AthenaMay24: You're too good! Really glad you're still enjoying it! Frankly, I think I've stretched beyond the concept of updating "problems" at this point! I think this is a full blown updating crisis! Very kind and inspiring words! So sorry if I've sucked up every grain of patience you've ever had! *Apologetic hug* xxx**_

_**carolzocas: I completely agree with you! Some really terrible things have happened to her. Even at the end of Age of Ultron! She's always the one left behind, despite trying to redeem herself. The whole Bruce/Natasha relationship was definitely very unexpected in Age of Ultron! Although I'm a pretty die hard Clintasha shipper, I really enjoyed some of their conversation, especially Natasha telling him about The Red Room. Joss Whedon's characterization, as usual, was incredibly genuine. Natasha would have probably been a lot more involved in the action of the movie though, if Scarlett Johansson hadn't been heavily pregnant! As always, thank you for all of your incredible support! I hope you still find this chapter appealing! **_

_**Widow306: I can't thank you enough! I hope you're still enjoying it!**_

_**ArabianForest: Thank God for that! There always seems to be some kind of rumour about Hawkeye getting axed! Can't say I wasn't devastated about Pietro though! (Thank you! So glad you're enjoying it! :D)**_

_**princess2015: All will be revealed in due course... ;)**_


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